Bound

by Kirsten Weiss

  The door swung open before the ring ended, a male figure blurred behind the screen.

  “Jayce. Thank God!” He swung open the screen, and Brayden’s handsome face fell.

  “Hi, Brayden. It’s me.”

  He winced, his red-rimmed eyes crinkling. He was nearly a decade older than me, the fine lines spoking from the corners of his eyes adding weight to his grief. “Sorry. Through the screen you looked…”

  “It’s okay. How are you? I’m so sorry about—”

  “Alicia.” He stared at his bare feet and tugged with both hands at his unruly, black hair. “The police told me you were there when…” He swallowed. “I should have been there.”

  I shook my head. “The paramedics arrived too late. Even if you’d been on duty—”

  “I could have…” He turned away.

  “I brought you a casserole. Bringing food may be a cliché, but I thought…” Would we manage to get through a complete sentence? “I thought we should talk.”

  “You’re right.” He stepped away. “Come in. How’s Jayce?”

  I fiddled with the edge of the aluminum foil, crimped around the casserole dish. Terrific. His wife had been killed and his first thought was of Jayce. So it was true, Brayden was in love with my sister. Welcome to the club, buddy — you and every other guy in Doyle.

  I tried to be annoyed. This would complicate things with the police. But I’d never had any problems with Brayden, and he looked beaten, hangdog. “I’m not sure how she is.” I stepped inside the foyer. Coats hung from pegs in the entry, neat rows of shoes and boots lined up beneath them on the burnished wood floor. “I left her at the police station.” My umbrella dripped on the soft, rag rug, and I slipped it into a nearby umbrella stand.

  “The police station?” Blood drained from his face. “Does she have a lawyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He paced the narrow hall. “That’s good.”

  “Jayce didn’t do this.”

  His chin jerked up. “Of course not! Jayce would never hurt Alicia. She wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Do you have any idea why Alicia was in the café?” I handed him the casserole.

  Turning, he strode down the hall, and I followed him into a gleaming kitchen. Metal counter tops sparkled, dishtowels lined up evenly on the stove handle. The only element out of place was an open drawer. Was Brayden the neat freak or had it been his wife?

  “She didn’t come home last night,” he said.

  Ground had closed at six yesterday. Jayce lived upstairs but had been out late. What time had Alicia gotten inside Ground? “You must have been worried. Did you call the police?”

  “We’d had an argument.” His words were clipped, and he banged the casserole dish on the counter.

  I decided not to ask what the fight was about.

  He blew out his breath. “Sorry. No, I didn’t call them. Now I wish to hell I had called. I thought she was pissed and at a hotel, blowing off steam.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay. You’re worried about your sister.”

  “Who would have wanted to hurt Alicia?”

  “To hurt both her and Jayce, you mean. Putting her in Ground was… It’s sick. I’ve been going through Alicia’s computer to see if there was anything she was working on.”

  “A story, you mean?” Alicia had been the editor of the local paper, and since Doyle was a small town, her byline garnished many of the articles. “Did the sheriff ask you to do that?”

  “The sheriff.” His mouth twisted in contempt. “She doesn’t want the truth.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?” I asked, uncertain.

  His green eyes flashed, a pulse beating in his jaw, and then his shoulders slumped. “I forgot. You wouldn’t know.”

  “Know what?” But then I understood. Ellen had home schooled us, putting a measure of isolation between us and the town. At eighteen, we’d each fled Doyle for colleges in far-flung parts of the country. And we’d all returned, as if drawn by an invisible force. But the separation between us and the town remained. I sometimes felt the town treated us like tourists rather than locals. Polite. Friendly. But distant.

  “Alicia helped put Sheriff McCourt’s husband in jail for a welfare scam,” he said. “There’s no love lost there.”

  I scrunched my brows. I’d heard the sheriff’s husband was in jail but hadn’t known about Alicia’s involvement. “The sheriff was reelected. The town gave her a pass.”

  “The exposure might not have ruined her career, but it ruined her marriage. She always blamed Alicia.”

  “You can’t believe Sheriff McCourt killed your wife.”

  “I guess not.” He whirled, his hip banging into the open drawer. Grimacing, he pushed the drawer shut. “It was years ago, when Alicia started working for the paper. It was her big break, her big story. The first big news in Doyle since…”

  “Since what?”

  He folded his muscular arms across his chest. “Since her own.”

  “Her own? I don’t understand.”

  “A teacher seduced Alicia in high school. Statutory rape. The son of a bitch should have gone to jail for it.”

  I sucked in my breath. Whoa. This was… whoa. “You mean he didn’t?”

  “He was out on bail when he disappeared.” His expression darkened. “Maybe your aunt had the right idea with the homeschooling, keeping you three out of the system.”

  “I never heard about any of this,” I said. Ellen really had kept us out of the loop. Poor Alicia.

  “You wouldn’t. It was before your time. Alicia is… was, nine or so years older than you.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” But Doyle was a small town. Everyone else must have known. I tried to imagine the sting. Had her brush with scandal sent Alicia into journalism? Better to uncover other people’s sins than have your own tragedies revealed?

  “For Alicia’s sake, I’m glad you were in the dark. She never lived it down. But she felt her article about the sheriff’s husband helped people forget her own scandal.”

  A gust of rain pelted the roof. Water streamed across the kitchen skylight.

  “You said you were searching her computer,” I said. “Was Alicia working on anything current that someone might have wanted to stop?”

  “She had a couple—”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I heard the door open, murmured voices, and then Brayden returned, carrying another foil-wrapped baking dish.

  “Lasagna,” he said.

  The realtor, Sunny Peel, trailed behind him. “You need to eat right, Brayden. I understand how difficult this is, but you have to take care of yourself. I bought this lasagna from the very best—” She stopped short, blinking, her gaze going to the casserole. “Karin!” She smiled, wan. Her trademark gold, four-leaf clover charm hung around her neck. “I see you had the same idea.” She jerked the hem of her red, designer suit jacket, straightening it.

  “We won’t be the only ones,” I said. “Hi, Sunny.”

  “I heard your aunt is in the hospital again,” she said. “I hope it’s nothing serious?”

  “We might be able to take her home tomorrow.” Once Sunny knew Aunt Ellen was dying, she’d be at the house, offering sympathy and finagling to buy the property.

  “Oh, that’s good news,” Sunny said. “Give her my best.”

  Ashamed, I lowered my chin. I wasn’t being fair. Sunny could be aggressive, but she’d never been accused of cheating a client. She was only doing her job, a job she was good at. She’d found the location for Ground when Jayce was looking for a place to open her café, and she’d negotiated a fair lease. I smiled brightly. “What were you doing at the hospital? Is your husband okay?” Oscar had been an invalid so long, I rarely saw him in town.

  “I’m afraid not. The doctors are doing their best, but they’ve never been able to diagnose him. Sometimes I worry they suspe
ct he’s a hypochondriac. But Oscar’s in real pain. He’s been in the hospital for the last two days.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That must be difficult for you both.”

  Sunny nodded.

  The silence lengthened, grew awkward.

  “Nice suit,” I said.

  “Thanks.” Sunny glanced down at her cream-colored silk shell and red slacks. “It’s Dolce and Gabbana. My favorite designer.”

  “Mm.” Maybe someday, if my books took off, I could have a favorite designer. For now, I’d make do with online catalogs.

  “Can I get either of you a cup of coffee?” Brayden asked.

  “No,” I said. “I should go.”

  “I’ll make the coffee,” Sunny said. “You relax, Brayden.”

  I said goodbye and headed for the entryway.

  He hurried after me, his bare feet noiseless on the wood floor, and opened the front door. “Tell Jayce I know she’s not involved, and I hope—”

  “Where do you keep your filters?” Sunny caroled from the kitchen.

  He looked over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “I hope the police figure that out soon.”

  Tasting something sour at the back of my mouth, I grabbed my umbrella from the stand. I didn’t need Tarot cards to know that the police might not bother to figure it out. Jayce made too convenient a suspect.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The cell phone blared, jerking me from uneasy dreams. Bleary eyed, my hand scrabbled across an end table until I located the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hey, witch. It’s Jayce. I’m out.”

  I bolted up on my bed, and the green coverlet slid to the floor. Morning sunshine streamed through the pale, olive-colored curtains. “Thank God. What happened?”

  “They let me out late last night. I tried calling you, but your phone was off.”

  I rubbed my eyes. “The battery died. I didn’t notice until right before I went to sleep. What happened? Are you out for good?”

  Jayce gusted a sigh. “I’m not counting on it, and neither is my lawyer.”

  My heart sank. That didn’t sound good. “Why not?”

  “Her body was found in my coffee shop. You connect the dots.” In the background, an espresso machine whirred.

  “What about your lawyer, Nick Heathcoat? How did you find him?”

  “In the phone book.”

  I smacked my forehead. “The phone book.” She’d chosen him at random?

  “I had a good feeling about him.”

  Great. I collapsed back onto the mattress, my sleep shirt bunching around my hips. But Jayce and her feelings were usually on target. Usually. “So you didn’t get any referrals?”

  “He sprang me from jail. That’s referral enough for me. The sheriff was dead set on holding me overnight.”

  “How did he get you out?”

  She laughed. “He bullied them. It was awesome. Oh, and he wants to talk to you, since you were with me yesterday when I found her.”

  “Um.” I rumpled my hair. “When?”

  “In an hour?”

  “An hour?” I glared at the alarm clock. Eight a.m. What fresh hell was this?

  “He can come to your house,” Jayce said.

  “You mean he’s already on his way. You said in one hour?”

  “Well, yes. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “I don’t.” I didn’t. Okay, I did, but only because I still hadn’t caught up on my lost sleep from the night before last. But this was an emergency. And I didn’t have to love the guy, as long as he did his job. “I’ll help any way I can. How are you? Really?”

  “Try terrified. I couldn’t explain to the police why Alicia was inside Ground, because I’ve got no idea. And Brayden… The sheriff practically accused us of having an affair. Brayden and I are just friends, but—”

  “Um...” I grimaced.

  “Um, what?”

  “Um, are you sure Brayden knows that?”

  “—but the police didn’t seem to believe we’re only friends, and yes, Brayden knows,” Jayce finished tartly.

  “Sorry. I saw him yesterday. He seemed more worried about you than his wife. If the police are suspicious—”

  “How’s Ellen?” Jayce asked.

  I gripped a pillow to my chest. “Jayce, there’s something I need to tell you.” I steeled myself. I had to tell her. “Ellen’s cancer is back, and it’s spread.”

  “What? How bad is it? When is she going in for another surgery?”

  “She’s not. I’m sorry, Jayce. She’s dying.”

  “What?” Her voice cracked. “No! She was okay! The doctors got it all. They said the surgery was successful!”

  I tried to swallow, but my thickening throat wouldn’t cooperate. “The cancer spread too quickly. Dr. Toeller said there’s nothing they can do.”

  “How long?” she whispered.

  “They aren’t sure.” I crumpled the pillow. “It could be days, weeks.”

  “And Ellen knows?”

  “Yes.”

  Jayce blew out a shaky breath. “God. Of all the time for me to get arrested. I should have been at the hospital yesterday. I’m sorry.”

  “You couldn’t help it. We haven’t told Ellen about Alicia or the police. We thought, with the news, it would be too much.”

  “No,” Jayce said, vague. “No. You did the right thing.” Her voice sharpened. “But Ellen must think I don’t care! I wasn’t there when she got the news. I didn’t visit last night. She learned she was dying, and I didn’t come by once yesterday to be with her.”

  “She was asleep most of the day. I went by last night to drop off Lenore’s things. She spent the night with Ellen. We told her she’d missed you while she was sleeping.”

  “You lied to a dying woman?” Jayce groaned. “I’ll go to the hospital now.”

  “We should be able to take her home today.”

  “Good. Ellen shouldn’t be stuck in a hospital. Thanks for taking care of everything, Karin. Again.”

  “I didn’t do anything. Call me if you hear what time Ellen’s going to be released.”

  “I will. Bye.” Jayce hung up.

  Fully awake now, I slid out of bed, showered, and dressed in a short-sleeved black top and narrow-legged slacks. It looked to be hot today, and the fabric was thin, stretchy, comfortable.

  After the miserable impression I must have made on Nick Heathcoat the day before, I took more time with my makeup. I puckered up, swiping on tinted lip gloss. Which I’d immediately eat off. Disgusted with myself, I tossed the gloss into the drawer. What was I doing? My aunt was dying, and I didn’t need to make a good impression on Jayce’s lawyer.

  I hurried to the backyard, heady with lavender and sage, and made an offering of incense and tobacco to the spirits of the place. As rushed as I was, today was not the day to slack off on the magic. I’d need all the help I could get, and I paused, inhaling the burning palo santo, watching the ripple of lavender in the breeze. A cool hush fell, inviting me inside the seven interlocking circles of the labyrinth. I made a move toward it, then stopped outside its entrance. There was no time to walk the labyrinth. The meditation took time, and the lawyer would be here soon.

  I ate breakfast leaning against the kitchen counter, my feet sinking into the white throw rug. Coffee perked, scenting the room. Outside the window, ferns and white wildflowers clustered beneath the pines dotting the hill.

  Crunching cereal, I stared at the shady hillside and ruminated on yesterday. Not on Ellen — I couldn’t think of her without weeping. But yesterday… I remembered my childhood introduction to the icy Pacific Ocean, when a wave had picked me up, dashed me down, and held me under. Yesterday had felt like that. So much had happened — Ellen, the deranged mother in the hospital and the dead woman in Ground.

  It hadn’t exactly been a normal day. Not by a long shot. Outside, a warm breeze rippled the ferns and dried grasses. I extended my senses, opening myself, and electricity rippled through me, whispering of revolution. My world was
changing, but I couldn’t tell if it was for good or ill.

  That worried me.

  The doorbell rang, startling me from my reverie.

  I set the empty bowl in the sink and checked my watch. The lawyer was on time to the minute. Good. God only knew what he was billing.

  I padded to the entryway. Feeling vulnerable in my bare feet, I slipped into a pair of leather sandals and opened the door.

  “Ms. Bonheim.” He smiled down at me. His tie was loose, the jacket of his Armani suit slung over one arm in a concession to the morning heat.

  “Come in.” I stepped aside. “And call me Karin. There are three Ms. Bonheims in my family. It’ll get confusing.”

  “Thanks.” He walked past me, the scents of his woodsy cologne and the coffee he gripped teasing my nose. “Call me Nick.”

  Old Nick, the devil, Prince of Lies. It was a good name for a criminal attorney.

  “Thanks for seeing me so early.” His briefcase swung lightly in his hand.

  “I made coffee.” I nodded to his paper cup. “Want a top up?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” He followed me into the kitchen.

  I poured a cup for myself and refilled his. I motioned to the dining area, its oval, wooden table and vanilla-pudding colored walls. Square windows overlooked the hillside.

  Setting his briefcase on the table, he laid his suit jacket over the back of a chair. “Am I making you late for work?”

  “No. I’ve got a client meeting in the afternoon, but otherwise I’m free.” My stomach fluttered, and I frowned.

  “Something wrong?”

  Yeah, he was giving me butterflies. “No. How can I help?”

  “Your sister told me you’re an estate attorney?”

  “Mm.” I didn’t advertise my second career as a romance writer, though someday I hoped to go fulltime into writing. For now, I was making more money from my legal clients than my writing, but that wasn’t saying a lot.

  “Your practice must keep you busy.” He stared at me, intent, and I felt that flutter again.

  I smoothed my expression. Good-looking men got too used to women falling over themselves. And on a scale of one to ten, Nick was an eleven and a half. I didn’t trust my reactions, especially with Ellen’s illness knocking me off balance. “As busy as I want to be. And you specialize in criminal law? I can’t imagine you have much business in Doyle.”